


The Last and the First (and a Few In-between)

by Bluskyy



Series: Of Men and Mer [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragonborn DLC, Exploring Canon's Limits, F/M, Healthy Polyamorous Relationship, M/M, Miraak is secretly a disaster bi shh, Multi, Pining, Self-Indulgent Character Study, Touch-Starved, because i'm not a coward TODD, but damn do i try, character tags updated when they actually show up :))), writing characters who are more intelligent than i am is difficult
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2020-04-07 09:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluskyy/pseuds/Bluskyy
Summary: The Last Dragonborn was powerful, he had to give her that; she had managed to learn all three words of the shout, HIS shout, and bend the will of a dragon, HIS dragon.Miraak was impressed—though he knew the mind of Sahrotaar was weak already with his imprisonment—but he knew he could not allow her to leave Apocrypha. With her soul, he would finally be powerful enough to leave this damned place.At least... he hoped it would be enough.





	1. Hoo boy is he P I N I N G

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile since I posted anything, which is annoying because I've had this in my folders for y e a r s.  
> Anyways.  
> Canon compliance? Don't know her.

 

 

When he had first seen her, Miraak doubted that someone so small could be Dragonborn, but her soul—the same soul that resided in him—sang out to him. He had tracked her progress through the maze of books and inky tendrils that was his prison, watching as she bypassed every obstacle that appeared in her way. A few times, Miraak had ordered a few more lurkers to ambush her out of a curious desire to test her strength. Every time, she surpassed them with flying colors, blades whirling in a kaleidoscopic contrast against the dark green monotony of Hermaus Mora’s corner of Oblivion.

Those swords she seemed to favor, Dawnbreaker on the left and the Nightingale blade on her right, only served to prove she was powerful. Coupled with ebony mail he had only read about (and really, that was the _only_ way he knew about anything these days), he could see she would be a worthy adversary. The First Dragonborn, champion of Hermaeus Mora, against the Last, servant of at least three others. The gods must be laughing at them.

He _knew_ Mora was, the prince made that very clear.

The only weakness he could discern was her obvious reliability on a partner who could not come through the books with her, he could see it in the way she charged each foe, leaving her left flank exposed, but her opponents never lasted more than a minute beneath her swirling blades and so could never use it against her. He filed that information away for later, to take advantage of when she reached the summit.

 _If_ , he chided himself, this Dragonborn hadn't been the only mortal to try to pass through Mora's realm.

Miraak hadn't addressed her since the first time she had appeared, and he made sure that she wasn’t aware that he had been watching her. She seemed to linger around the books that transported her through Apocrypha and with a morbid curiosity inspected the remains of the lurkers and seekers unfortunate enough to get in her way. He almost scoffed; she was fascinated with this realm and the knowledge it had to offer, not unlike himself when he had first made his deal with Mora. He had promised his soul to only one Prince, and some days he felt as if his deal was splitting his soul at the seams; but she had pledged herself to _three._

Had they been born in a different time, they might have sought the other out, been something other than enemies; as it was, her death was necessary, he couldn’t afford to contemplate what-ifs. But he knew how alone she felt, the _Last_ Dragonborn: too mighty to be counted among the mortals, too fragile to be among the dovah. Dragons were social creatures, they roosted together, hunted together, raised their eggs together, and she (they) were unable to join them. Dovah would be driven mad without interaction from their fellows, how much more so a _dragon_ ’s soul trapped in a _mortal’s_ body, rejected by both their kins?

Miraak shook his head, driving the thought from his mind.

It would not do to dwell on such things.

 


	2. someone put him in a flower crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This just in: local murderhobo actually soft boi who deserves love and affection. More at 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back!!! how's quarantine treating y'all? Anyways, here another 1.4k of pining for all you thirsty ass hoes (it's me. i'm the thirsty ass ho)

She was back.

He could feel her presence settle like a migraine in the back of his skull. Miraak was left with a choice. He could remain at his desk, trying to research a spell he could never know for sure would work, or he could go and observe the Last.

Of the two, the latter was much more interesting. He left his desk, covered in four inches of paper all filled with his cramped, uneven writing, all on one spell he couldn’t even practice. He had been moments away from igniting the entire thing when he had felt her presence again. The Last Dragonborn was his saving grace, in more ways than one.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

As he watched her move casually but with purpose through the halls, he came to a conclusion: she had already gone through this part of Apocrypha. He was fairly certain of it (even though so much of Apocrypha looked the same to him after all this time), especially if the frequent, but slightly scattered, ash piles were anything to go by.

 Why was she here, then?

The Last Dragonborn pulled one of the books from the towering, twisting pillars. Miraak assumed it was at random since none of the books in this section had any visible title or distinguishing factor on their cover. It came free easily, which surprised Miraak none—after all, the knowledge that was stored here was not designed to be _difficult_ to acquire once one actually made it to Apocrypha. The knowledge itself may have been hard to  _ locate  _  but it was always there, and it was always ready to be found.

Of course, they _were_ constructed with that in mind. The longer any seekers of knowledge stayed, the more they became like Seekers, perpetually possessed by a mindless hunger that Hermaeus _encouraged_. It was funny, in a way, hoe Mora ended up trapping people with the knowledge they were so seeking with no way for them to use it.

... as had happened in Miraak's case.

Miraak had to stop himself from bitterly scoffing aloud at the memory, he didn’t want to alert the Dragonborn to his presence just yet.

Tucking the unknown book under her arm, she continued her casual meander; he followed, the archways and walls making it easy to shadow her from above. She wormed her way through an opening between the stacks that would have been too small for him to squeeze through and would have posed a problem had he been following her from the ground. The back space between the shelves was small and crooked and her pace was slow, easy to follow, with no effort made to conceal her footsteps. He almost expected her to start humming. Oddly enough, even in her heavy armor, Miraak could hardly hear her movement, and was able to follow her solely through sight and the odd connection he could feel between their souls.

He wondered vaguely if she could feel it too and felt a quick stab of regret shoot through him when he remembered that this connection was temporary and that he would be the one to sever it.

Unaware of her audience, the Last Dragonborn sat down cross-legged against the wall, careful not to sit on either of the daedric swords at her hips, propped the book open and began to read. Miraak cocked his head, perplexed. She had come to Apocrypha many a time, but never just to read. He mirrored her, sitting down so as to make it harder to spot him, as well as to make it easier to observe her.

She read—or rather  _ appeared _ to read, Miraak couldn’t tell where her gaze fell through her helmet (ebony, to match the Mail)—for quite some time. The pages of the book slowly and steadily were turned and Miraak wondered which book she had chosen.

The turning of pages slowed to a stop, she had obviously found something interesting on the current page and wanted to inspect it closer—actually… no. Miraak realized something as her head had started to lower. She jerked her head up, drowsily tried to focus on the book again, and his suspicion was confirmed.

She was starting to fall asleep.

Several thought ran through his head. Sleep? In Apocrypha? How did she even manage to do that? How did she feel  _ safe _ enough to do that?

She had nodded off again, and this time she didn’t jerk herself awake. Miraak slowly, quietly climbed down from his perch. The damp paper layering the floor helped to muffle his footsteps as he crept toward the sleeping Last Dragonborn. Miraak became acutely aware of the weight of his sword at his side and of her vulnerable position. Almost without thinking, he drew his sword. He could kill her now, take her soul, escape ahead of plan, but…

What if he killed her and it didn’t work? If there was something,  _ anything _ , that he missed, then the spell wouldn’t work and he would be stuck in Apocrypha, this time without another Dragonborn—without  _ her _ —for the rest of eternity.

The thought was too much to bear. He couldn’t risk it; he’d leave, wait for her on the Summit. He had so much to prepare and he got an itch to return to the paper covered desk in his study.

The book fell from her limp hands, startling her awake and making him jump and raise his sword on instinct. Miraak froze. The other Dragonborn tensed when she saw him. Neither of them moved. Slowly, her armor began to smoke.

Miraak opened his mouth—perhaps to assure her that he (currently) meant her no harm, perhaps to heckle her, perhaps to berate her for letting her guard down—but wasn’t able to get a word in as several things happened at once. She threw the book at him and Shouted, using his reactive shielding and the now supernaturally slowed time caused by her Shout to slip past him, her armor leaving a trail of black, poisonous smoke. She had disappeared through the stacks of books before he could even turn around. He felt time return to normal and only a few seconds later, felt her presence leave and return to Nirn.

It was hard to mask the stab of disappointment that shot through him. Of course, it was something she couldn't have known, but he hadn't been going to  _ kill  _ her just then. Her reaction had made sense though. Waking up to someone—her  _ enemy _ nonetheless—standing over her with sword drawn was alarming for anyone. It was curious how quickly she had been able to escape… her reaction time and quick thinking was impressive.

Miraak turned to make his way back to his study, glad to have something other than his predicament to think about. He wanted to know his opponent, and they couldn't very well sit down for tea while he asked her what her greatest weaknesses were, that would just be ludicrous.

He was jerked from his train of thought when he felt something crunch underfoot, something other than the damp pages that covered every inch of floor.

Curious, he lifted his foot up and picked up what he had stepped on.

It was a flower. Bright yellow with orangish veins and freshly picked. The Last Dragonborn must have dropped it in her haste to escape. Miraak gingerly held the crushed bloom under his chin, even though there was still space and a mask between the flower and his nose, its scent was so different from everything else in Apocrypha that he could distinguish it easily. 

It was sweet and powerful. Miraak had half a mind to hunt down books on botany, if only to find out what this intoxicating flower was and where it bloomed, so he could know where to visit once he finally escaped.

With that thought, the sadness to see her go was replaced with a renewed sense of determination. He returned to his study (after a short climb up and over the walls), strides purposeful. 

Once there, he searched for a book that was significantly less damp than others, taking one last invigorating sniff of the flower before pressing it tenderly between pages. He wanted it to last, something to remind him of his resolve—even if it was as simple as the scent of a wildflower that had revitalized his conviction to continue. He began anew his work on the spell that would allow him to finally leave Apocrypha.

The spell that would allow him to finally go  _ home. _

The spell that would require him to... kill  _ her _ .

His resolve wavered for only a moment, but his mind was already made up. Death was a merciful alternative to being trapped in Hermaeus Mora’s Eternal Atheneum, and it was a far better option than what _he_ had been supplied.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have 4 (four) assignments due in 1 (one) hour plus 3 (three) hours of class videos i need to watch and instead i'm gonna post some self indulgence
> 
> priorities, yo

**Author's Note:**

> Anywho. We should have been able to have some kind of different ending for the Summit of Apocrypha and that's the hill I will die on.


End file.
